There are some stylised but quite funny mimes of sexual frustration and
a good bit of stage business involving a dance with multi-coloured plastic
buckets that has a 'down Mexico way' or Copland-in Cuba feel. The women
who taunt the hapless chaps did need, however, rather more directional variety
than the constant wriggling and arm-waving that became as tiresome to watch
as it must have been tiring to perform.

There is a moment of self-referential parody when the Magistrate arrives
to the music of Theodorakis' setting of, onetime fellow political exile,
Pablo Neruda's Canto General and has to be stopped in his tracks.
Those 'in the know' thought it a hoot. A self-deprecatory shrug of ignorance
had to do for the rest of us.